


Native Tongue

by ahappyphil



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, idk bro like just vibes and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahappyphil/pseuds/ahappyphil
Summary: on love languages and learning
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 42
Kudos: 113





	Native Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> I will not be accepting perceiving about my projections at this time :) ty to Louise for beta reading and threatening to head butt me like a goat <3

Phil likes to touch. 

His mum used to call him a claw machine, always grabbing at whatever object or person who came in close enough contact with his pram. Always clinging at her leg until it was time to put him down to sleep to clutch a stuffed animal to his chest.

It’s a comfort still, to touch every shirt he passes in a shop or rub the leaf of a plant between his fingers. He still slaps when he’s excited. He still sleeps better with something, or someone, to clutch onto. 

He’s not wordy like Dan. It used to be overwhelming in a way, sitting there in silence on the other side of a screen, helpless, listening to Dan open up and talk about everything. His past, his fears, all the ways in which the people he trusted let him down. 

All he could do was offer what he hopes was a sympathetic smile and nod, his body quietly screaming to reach out, to hold him. Do _something_. It was a brand new kind of pain he didn’t know he could feel. 

Dan made him less afraid of words, of his own voice. Always so, so patient. Letting them happen in his own time. One cold night, Dan held him in his arms for hours, sat quietly as he started to talk about the times words had hurt him, had been used against him. How no one can hold a touch against you. It was daylight by the time he was done. Dan never once let go. 

He likes words now, when he feels like it. He likes that he can tell his family how much he loves them. He can write a particularly sappy birthday card that’s sure to make the red patch on Dan’s cheek glow and earn him a kiss to his own. 

*

Dan likes to explain.

When he was young he wanted to justify his existence, his worth, to anyone who stuck around long enough to listen. The persistent need to be interesting and witty and cool as a kind of apology for taking up space and being a waffley twat. 

Words were his friend sat alone in his room, memorizing songs and books and plays for an invisible audience. There was a freedom in reciting other’s words on stage, a way to be heard and seen with a barrier safely in place. 

His teachers said he had a talent, an ability beyond his years when he’d put his thoughts on a page. He also learned his words could cut, could bite back, which seemed to be far more useful. Keep him safe when his body rejected the mere idea of fighting. 

Touch was an uncontrollable enemy. It was pushing and shoving in a locker room. It was white hot jealousy when he’d watch his mum hold his infant brother in her arms. It was unnerving fear when she would put her hands on him and his body would unconsciously recoil. 

Learning Phil meant unlearning touch as he’d come to know it. He didn’t know gentleness like that existed in the world. Now he can’t fathom going through life without hands on him, grabbing and poking and pulling, just because. 

Phil taught him the beauty of a quiet room, has given him the courage to leave empty space in the air where he’d before found it stifling. 

It scared him in the beginning, all the things Phil was okay to leave unsaid. All the quiet declarations he thought were already understood while Dan paced the floors of his tiny bedroom waiting for an official statement. Signed sealed delivered: Phil Lester is his. 

Phil Lester is most undoubtedly his.

He still uses words to cope, to express, to convey the constant parade of thoughts in his brain. He’s found he likes them best when they’re used to heal. To comfort. To tell people the people who for some reason still hang on every word he says, that they’re loved. That they’re not alone. That it gets better. That it _got_ better. 

He is a rather big fan of touch now, too. He likes that he can express just how much adoration is in his heart without having to perform. He likes that he can hug a stranger without flinching. He especially likes it when Phil has once again left him speechless, and all he can do is pull him close because he knows that’s more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Reblog [here](https://ahappydnp.tumblr.com/post/637407294696620032/native-tongue) :)


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